


Soul Of My Soul

by Nevermore_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection, Tumblr Prompt, soulmate aus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: A collection of one shots from a series of Soulmate prompts I received on Tumblr. All SanSan.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 101
Kudos: 278





	1. Soulmates that can feel eachothers pain.

Whoever her soulmate was, Sansa wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to meet them. They’d likely not live long enough if they kept at it. Starting at birth, Sansa was often riddled with pain, the sort that meant her soulmate had been severely injured. It had driven her parents insane with worry since she spent so much of her childhood laying abed with invisible injuries. At first Sansa didn’t understand and she was angry that she was stuck with a soulmate that hurt themselves so much. She would be sitting with Septa Mordane working on her stitching and it would be coming along so wonderfully and then all the sudden she would seize up with a bolt of pain that felt like a knife entering her body and she’d ruin it. She got so angry and bitter about it that she would wait until late at night when her soulmate would likely be trying to sleep and she would take a knitting needle and stab herself in the palm of her hand just to give him a jolt and wake him up. It served him right for ruining her embroidery. 

It wasn’t until she got older that she truly understood what her bouts of pain meant. Her poor soulmate, the person who was her true other half, the one that would complete her and love her like no other, spent so much of his life being subjected to such horrid pain. The bitterness went away and she started feeling so bad for him. Her prayers every night were now said for him, to keep him safe and healthy and she never did strike herself with a needle again. She vowed never to cause him any more pain than what he had to endure himself.

Meeting Joffrey, Sansa knew he wasn’t her soulmate. She also knew most people didn’t marry their soulmates. Even her own parents, who loved each other dearly and were a beautiful example of a good marriage, weren’t soulmates. She would love Joffrey as much as she could and keep her soulmate locked away in her heart, and her prayers would always be for him and his safety.

Sandor Clegane was an intimidating man and more often than not he scared her. When she learned of his trauma, of the horrors he faced at the hands of his brother, her heart went out to him. He was a man who had never known love or kindness. She had decided then and there that she would show him as much as she could. Still, as much as she felt a surge of empathy and emotions for him, she hadn’t known. Not until the day Joffrey had her stripped and beaten at court. She was trying desperately to separate herself from the experience and she had found that concentrating on Sandor’s face helped. It was then, watching his face so intently, that it became apparent. The flat of Trant’s sword slammed into her back and Sandor winced at the same time she screamed out, and he even stumbled forward with an imaginary blow. Sandor Clegane, the Hound, sworn shield to her own personal tormentor, was her soulmate.

The night the Blackwater burned, Sansa found him in her bedroom. He was drunk, incoherent, in the middle of a mental and emotional breakdown so profound she could feel it, and covered in blood and vomit. He had frightened her, mostly because she was scared for him, but when he was over her, demanding a song, she had softened and given him one. She needed to reach him, to help him. He was her other half, and every fiber of her being screamed out for her to protect him and comfort him. So, she had given him the song he needed. Then she had held him while he cried, uncaring that he was so soiled with filth.

“Your pain will end.” She had whispered to him, fingers running through his lank, dirty hair. “And until then, I will share it with you.”

He lifted up onto his elbows to look down at her, and Sansa looked up into his face, gaunt and haunted in the flickering green light. Yet there was a shining hope in his eyes. 

“That’s what soulmates do.” She went on, lifting a hand to touch his ruined cheek. “We share each other’s pain.”

He nodded, beyond words as he was overcome with emotion. After a second, he was able to speak, choked up though he was.

“Let me take you home, to the North. Mayhap we can share more than just pain.”

Sansa smiled, and with her whole heart, she agreed to go with him. To give them time to learn each other, to grow together, to help each other heal and become better. To one day fall in love, and to spend the rest of their lives together. 


	2. One person aggressively not believing in soulmates until they meet their soulmate.

Soulmates were a cute concept. In theory, Sansa liked the idea. Two halves of the same soul, destined for true love. It was utterly romantic. And utterly silly. When she was a young girl she often dreamed about her soulmate, played pretend and sometimes forced Theon Greyjoy to be the other half of her storyline. He secretly loved it, though he would never tell Robb or anyone else that. Not that it mattered anyway. Theon’s soulmark didn’t match hers. As Sansa got older, it became very evident that most people she knew that had loving, lasting relationships and marriages didn’t have matching marks. Robb and Jeyne didn’t. Uncle Edmure and Roslin didn’t. Jon and Dany didn’t. Not even her parents did. Arya had met hers but she and Gendry were nothing more than great friends. 

Sansa figured building a great love was far more romantic, and more believable, than just being bound to someone. And she tried, she really did. She tried with Joffrey, and that ended in disaster for her entire family. Harry had seemed to work for a bit, but soon enough Sansa found out that he was working out pretty well for quite a few girls. Jaded though she was, Sansa was still determined to find someone and build a love and a life with them. In her opinion, soulmates weren’t real. Oh, she knew that people shared marks, but she didn’t believe in any way that it meant they were soulmates or destined for great love or any of that stuff. It was just…a sweet fairytale. Not real, but nice to hear about.

The bar, The Wall, Jon had bought when he was with his first girlfriend, Ygritte, the one he shared a soulmark with. She had died and Jon had found love with Dany, who had also lost her soulmate, and they ran the bar together now. It was Theon’s birthday and the bar was packed full of people, music luring couples onto the dance floor and drinks flowing. Sansa was sat at the bar, laughing at something Arya and Gendry were talking about. The bartender, a new guy that Sansa had never met, came up to them. Bracing his hands on the bar top, he leaned forward so he could speak to them.

“What’ll you have?” he rasped, voice deep and rough and gravely. Sansa heard it, but she was distracted by the sheer size of the man. He was huge, taller even than Brienne, and built like a body builder. He was wearing short sleeves and his forearms were the single most attractive thing she’d ever seen.

“Hey, girl, you going to order or can I move on?” he snapped, breaking her out of her daze. Her eyes snapped up to his and she had to hold back a gasp. Half his face was marred by what looked to be burn scars, but when her eyes met his intense grey ones, she felt a little off balance, like her world was realigning itself.

“Can you not speak?” he asked, brow furrowed, and then glanced over at Arya. “Does she want anything?”

“Be nice, asshole.” Arya snapped. “She obviously trying to decide.”

No. She wasn’t. When he had turned away from her, she had let her eyes fall back to his arms and there, on the inside of his left bicep, just visible beneath his shirtsleeve, was a small yellow bird. The exact same yellow bird that she had on the inside of her wrist.

“Hurry it up, then.” He turned back to her. “I’ve got other…” he trailed off when he noticed where her gaze was and Sansa unconsciously touched her own little bird on her wrist.

“Huh.” He huffed. “So, you’re the little bird.”

Sansa panicked. Fumbling off the stool, she ran like a coward. When she got outside, she leaned against the wall and drew in deep breaths of the cold air. She had never intended to find the person with a matching mark, but now that she had, and now that she felt so drawn to him regardless of just meeting him, her entire belief system was in uproar.

“Sansa, what the hell?” Arya brought her out of her panic when she followed her out, coming to stand next to her.

“He had this.” Sansa said, lifting her wrist.

“Oh.” She paused. “But, you don’t believe in that stuff so what does it matter?”

“I don’t know.” Sansa shook her head. “I…I don’t. Mom and dad, Robb and Jeyne, Jon and Dany…they aren’t with their soulmates and they’re happy. They are in love. And you and Gendry are…”

“Engaged.” Arya broke in and Sansa snapped her head to the side to look at her. Arya grinned. “Have been for about three months now. We’re going next week to Volantis to elope.”

Sansa stared for a minute, then laughed, shaking her head. “Of course you are.”

“Sansa, soulmates…it’s not a guarantee of love ever after. But it’s. Shit, how do I explain this? Your soulmate, they…they’ll always have a deeper connection with you. They’ll understand you better than anyone else could. Gendry, he gets my shit, yeah? And I get his. And maybe this asshole of a dude in there can be that for you. He can understand you, can love you, can support you better than any other asshole you pick. And that doesn’t have to be as anything more than just as your best friend. Unless you want more than that.”

With that, Arya squeezed her shoulder and went back inside. Sansa decided to stay outside for a bit longer, to get her head on straight. But when Arya opened the door to the bar, she heard her give someone a firm warning. Judging from the size of the shadow that fell on the snow covered ground, it was the bartender. Her stomach fluttered. He came over and stood next to her.

“I’m Sandor, if that matters to you.” He said after a minute.

“Sansa.” She turned to look up at him. “Sansa Stark.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Jon’s cousin, then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, then bit her lip. “I’m sorry, for running like that. I just don’t believe in all this soulmate stuff and seeing your mark sort of turned my head.”

“I got that. But we do have matching marks, so how do you not believe that? I’m not some fucking creep con man that stalked you to find your mark and tattooed it on me if that’s what you think.”

“Oh, it’s not.” Sansa assured him. “It’s just…I never thought.”

“Look, I don’t know you, and I’m not going to force anything on you.” He laughed, though it didn’t sound particularly humorous. “But, fuck, Little Bird.” He looked down at her. “You’re my godsdamn soulmate. You know what that means to a guy like me?”

She did, actually. Or, at least she thought she did. Either way, she felt a sudden, intense urge to make sure whatever had hurt him in the past didn’t hurt him anymore. And maybe, just maybe, she had the ability to do that.

“Dinner?” she asked, grinning at the surprised look on his face. “I’d like to go to dinner with you. Maybe we can figure out all this…soulmate business.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”


	3. Sandors POV of Ch. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor's POV of chapter 1

Until sometime around his sixteenth nameday, Sandor had thought he was one of the people that didn’t have a soulmate. He hadn’t felt a single thing up until then, and a part of him was grateful for that. At least there wasn’t some poor bastard out there that was being subjected to the amount of pain he put himself through. It occurred slowly, the idea that maybe some of the pain he was feeling wasn’t his own. It started with a deep pain in his ear that came and went quite often for about a year. Then it was the burn of what felt like skinned knees or scraped palms. Small wounds, or sickness common in babies. That meant he was probably quite a bit older than his soulmate. For the longest time, he held out this unrealistic and naïve hope that one day he would find them and together they could build a family. A secret, long held hope that he rarely even let himself think about. 

Meeting Sansa Stark at Winterfell, it hadn’t occurred to him that she, with all her youth and dreams and ignorance, could possibly be his other half. Yet, he found himself drawn to her anyway. On the Kings Road back to the capital when her wolf was killed was when he got an inkling. He felt her pain, a deep emotional sort. He brushed it off as empathy until they got to Kings Landing. It was nothing ever more than a stubbed toe or needle prick to her finger. Every time the latter happened, Sandor couldn’t help but grin, remembering all the times he’d gotten a jab in the palm late at night. He’d known fairly quickly it was out of spite, but quickly enough that had stopped.

Then her father had died, and he was nearly choked with the pain of her grieving. The beatings started fairly quickly after that and even though Joffrey had given him the white cloak, assuming he’d be grateful to give up all his secret hopes and dreams of a family and a future, Sandor found it was Sansa that he felt compelled to protect. He’d done what he could, given her what advice he could and steered Joffrey’s anger away from her when he got the chance. Then the battle at the bay happened and fear and panic and cowardice had consumed him. In the midst of all those suffocating and overwhelming emotions, he sought out the only person he knew could comfort him. The only person he wished to have comfort him.

Regret was a heavy burden. When he had wanted nothing more than comfort from his other half, all he had done was spill out his dirty, messy trauma. He’d scared her, almost hurt her, and he wasn’t sure if he could live his life knowing that his own soulmate would only ever look at him in terror.

But she hadn’t. She’d shown him only kindness and understanding and compassion. She’d given him a song, and soothed his wrath and tamed his fury. Then, to his utter disbelief, she had acknowledged their soul deep connection and agreed to let him take her home. To safety. 

Mayhap, as they grew together and took the time to heal each of their own traumas with the others support, they could work on making that long desired dream of his a reality. 


	4. Being able to telepathically communicate with your soulmate.

“Robb, what does ‘buggering’ mean?” Sansa asked with all the innocence and curiosity of a six-year-old. Robb squinted his eyes in thought. He’d heard the word, he thought. Something Theon said sometimes but never in front of mom or dad.

“I think it’s a bad word.” He finally said. “Don’t say it. Where did you hear it, anyway? I told Theon not to say bad words around you.”

“I heard it in my head.” She said without hesitation before skipping out of the kitchen and off to do whatever six-year-old girls did. Robb rolled his eyes. Gods help whoever her soulmate ended up being. 

Sansa was ten when her mother sat her down and explained what a soulmate was and what that would mean for her. Sansa had been filled with romantic notions and fairytale dreams. A soulmate who could hear her no matter how far away they were! It was so dreamy. It hadn’t been a surprise, really. Over the years Sansa had heard another voice in her head. The voice would only break through occasionally and it was often clipped and short. Her mother said to talk to your soulmate, you had to really try. It wasn’t that they could just hear every little thought in your head. That, and sometimes when there were extreme emotions it would spill over.

After that, she concentrated, really pushed her thoughts into their head. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, and mother said not to tell them her name yet, so she just said hello.

 _Get out of my bloody head._ An ill tempered and grumpy voice had quickly snapped back. The voice was gravely and deep. Sansa was affronted.

_That’s no way to speak to a Lady, let alone your soulmate._

_Yeah? And how old are you then, girl? Because you sound like a child._

_It’s almost my eleventh nameday. I’m not a child. I’m a lady._

_Well, my lady, I’m 26. It’s not appropriate. Go find some boy your own age and bother him._

She couldn’t really fault him for that logic, though she had no inclination to find some boy. With every intention of ignoring him for the rest of her life, Sansa dropped the conversation.

That, it turned out, wasn’t as simple as Sansa had thought. He was still there. When she was twelve and her appendix ruptured, he was there. Reluctantly, of course, but he still heard her pain and fear when she had trouble containing them. He calmed her, blunt though he was. Again, when she was sixteen and at her first party. She’d gone to prom with Joffrey Baratheon and it had all seemed so perfect until afterwards. He’d taken her somewhere she didn’t know with people she didn’t feel comfortable with. He pushed drinks on her and Sansa wanted to leave, but didn’t know how to get out of the situation.

 _Run._ Her soulmate had urged her, sounding rather urgent. _Forget his feelings and what people will say, and get the hells out of there._

So, she had and after that, she made it a point to touch base with him every now and then. It was normally just once a week or so, and eventually he started checking up with her as well. They formed a bond, a friendship or sorts, and Sansa found herself with the increasing desire to talk to him all the time. And she wanted to meet him.

 _Where do you live?_ She asked for the first time when she was eighteen and fixing to head off to university.

_Why?_

_I’m moving to Kings Landing in a few weeks for University. I thought before I start my courses we could meet if you lived somewhere around there._

_No._

_No? No, you don’t live there or no you don’t want to meet._

_It’s not a good idea. I’m not something anyone would want._

_Shouldn’t I get a choice in the matter? We are soulmates, after all. The Gods thought we were compatible._

_I don’t believe in any gods._

_Do you believe in love, at least?_

_You don’t know me, girl. No one should be unlucky enough to get stuck with me._

_I know you. I know you better than anyone else in the world. If I can feel the way I feel about you right now without ever having met you, I can’t imagine what sort of love can grow once I do._

Before he could respond, Sansa closed her eyes and pushed her feelings towards him, letting him feel what she felt for him so he could know without a doubt.

_Don’t feed into it. It’ll pass and you’ll get over it._

That had hurt far more than she had thought it could. To be rejected by her own soulmate? She hadn’t heard of that. Their souls had been crafted by the gods to be entwined. How could he not want her?

The fog of hurt followed her to Kings Landing. It deepened and became sharper when everything she said to him over the next month went unanswered. He had shut her out completely and Sansa felt a little lost.

Trudging on was all that she knew how to do, so that’s what she did. During the day she swallowed down the grief and went to class. She got a job and made friends and generally had a good time. Night times were worse and she worked as hard as she could to keep the connection to her soulmate closed so she didn’t let her heartbreak leak over into his consciousness. If he didn’t want her, she would leave him alone.

For two months she had succeeded in that. But then the phone call came. Both her parents had been in an accident. Both had died immediately. Sansa had broken down in her living room, crumbling onto the floor and lost herself to the desolate feeling.

 _What is it? What’s wrong?_ His voice was a little panicked and Sansa couldn’t even gather herself enough to try and politely tell him everything was fine. Because it wasn’t.

 _It hurts so bad I can’t breathe._ She sobbed to him. _I didn’t even get to say goodbye._

_Where are you? Tell me where you are!_

Without a thought, Sansa gave him the address to her apartment. She laid on the rug in the living room, drowning in her own tears, while his voice buzzed in her head that he was coming to her. And twenty minutes later, there was a frantic knock on her door. Crawling to her feet, Sansa made it to the front door and unlocked it. Pulling it open, all she felt was an intense sort of relief wash over her when she saw him even though he was a complete stranger. He didn’t hesitate, just stepped through her front door and scooped her up into his massive arms. Holding her to his chest, he kicked the door shut and carried her into the living room where he sat on the sofa. For the longest time neither of them talked. He just held her, gently rocking and smoothing a hand up and down her back while she cried her self out.

“My parents.” She finally said, voice hoarse and throat sore. “They died this morning.”

“Yeah.” He rasped, voice just as rough and deep as it was in her head. “I know. I felt that."

Sansa sniffed, lifting her head to wipe her eyes. Then she really looked at him for the first time. He was looking at her with pewter grey eyes. His nose was proud and hooked, cheeks bones high and sharp with a strong jaw. His brow was heavy, hair black and long, and mouth both harsh, yet somehow soft. It didn’t matter that his half his face was twisted with burn scars. It was the most perfect face in existence to her. She wondered what his name was.

“Sandor.” He said aloud. “Sandor Clegane.”

“I’m Sansa Stark.” She replied. “Thank you for coming.”

His smile was small, a little crooked. “I tried to stay away, for your sake. But I can’t…I don’t want to anymore.”

“Good.” She cupped his ruined cheek. “Because things are terrible right now and I think I might need you to help me get through it.”

“I will.” He almost whispered. “If you want me, I’m here.”

“I do.” She assured him, tipping his chin down so that she could lean in and place a small kiss on his lips. “I do want you, Sandor Clegane.”


	5. Soulmates that can feel each others pain, combined with; Stop aging at 18 until you meet your soulmate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At bit steamy, but nothing graphic.

Not that he would admit it to anyone, but Sandor had been waiting for his soulmate his whole life. When he hit 18, he started an experiment. Every girl he met that he felt a spark of interest in, he would do something that hurt him. It was never overly dramatic, just a hard pinch to the inside of his arm. He would wait, watching closely, but none of the girls ever registered the pain. Most hardly even registered him, for that matter, other than being highly disgusted by his face. And he never aged. Not for the next sixteen years.

After two years of waiting and secretly hoping and yet not aging at all, Sandor gave up. Fuck soulmates. It was all a bunch of buggering nonsense anyway. He hardly ever felt any sort of pain that wasn’t his own except for minor things like a stubbed toe or the stomach cramps that happened once a month. So, it was a girl, at least. That much he knew. Not that it helped him any, and after a time he just gave up. The Lannister’s were good to him, or good enough anyway. They paid him enough to put a fairly decent roof over his head and food in his belly. They treated him like a guard dog, and eventually that’s all Sandor thought of himself. It wasn’t like he’d ever been shown an ounce of love or kindness in his life. Not from his parents, and for damn sure not his brother. The world was a cruel bastard, so he made sure he was just as cruel. Forever stuck being an 18 year old in a world that didn’t give a shit about him.

Joffrey brought the girl home when she was just barely a teen. Sansa had a pretty face, a polite submissive personality, and a family with a good name. Sandor watched as she was slowly broken down by the twisted cruelty of the Lannister’s and her family was destroyed. He watched as all that idealistic romanticism was stripped from her eyes, and it wasn’t a pleasant thing to witness. It hurt him to see her so callously hurt and used, and for the first few years Sandor had just thought it was that. Some long lost, buried deep empathy that only showed itself when it came to her. But then he looked in the mirror and noticed a change in his face. Lines where there hadn’t been any before, a maturity to his eyes that was new. He was aging and slowly he came to realize it was her emotional pain that he was feeling.

The reality of it slapped him in the face the first time Joffrey had her beat. He never did so in front of his mother, but now that Sansa’s family were gone and the pretense of needing her unharmed went away, Joffrey had free range to do as he would. Sandor felt each blow Trant landed into her belly and the sting of his knuckles cracking across her cheek. A fumbled, panicked reason for the beating to stop rose into his throat and Sandor spit it out. Joffrey listened, thank the gods, and from then on Sandor made sure to be there whenever Cersei wasn’t so that he could curb the boys rage and direct it somewhere else other than Sansa.

It was like some cruel joke, Sandor thought. To finally, after all these years, find his soulmate only to have her untouchable, the imprisoned little bird of his employer. Forced to stand by and watch as she grew into a young woman of 18 while she had no clue he was her soulmate. He was resigned to it, making himself a promise that he would stay there forever, keeping her as safe as he could. Sansa seemed to notice his efforts and started to seek him out. He gave her what comfort her could, and selfishly relished the compassion and kindness she showed him, especially when he was lost in drunken moments of past traumas. It was a fucked up situation, but Sandor couldn’t stop himself from feeling grateful that he had at least found her and that he was there to protect her.

Sandor wasn’t sure if she noticed herself continuing to age after her 18th birthday, but he did. He noticed the growing swell of her hips, how her legs kept getting impossibly longer. She never said anything about it, not until the night of what should have been Joffrey’s 20th birthday. They had a party and Joffrey had drank and snorted himself into a manic rage. He’d taken it out on Sansa before Sandor could stop it. After Sandor had convinced the boy to go back to the party, he’d led Sansa to a back bathroom to help her clean up. She sat on the sink counter, eyes dazed and unfocused as he gently used a wet cloth to clean her split lip.

“How is he my soulmate?” Sansa whispered after a moment and Sandor’s eyes snapped to hers, but she still wasn’t looking at him. “I keep…I keep getting older, so it must be him. But how? Why would the gods be so cruel?”

It was then Sandor decided that the truth was needed. He couldn’t possibly let her go on thinking Joffrey fucking Baratheon was her soulmate.

“He’s not.” He said firmly and her eyes finally focused on his, brows furrowed a little in confusion. “Joffrey isn’t your soulmate. Have you ever felt any of his pain? Have you noticed the little cunt aging at all? He has you beat and never flinches.” He cupped her chin to make sure she stayed looking at him. “ _He_ is not your soulmate.” 

Her lips parted, tears collecting along her lashes as she stared at him. There was something in her Tully blue eyes, something like hope. Sandor reached behind her and into the medicine cabinet. He pulled out a metal nail file. Holding her gaze, he pressed the sharp tip of it into his palm and watched as she gasped, eyes flying down to her own palm and bringing it up to her chest, fingers clenched in a fist. She looked back at him, the tears collecting in her lashes now spilling over. Her bottom lip quivered and Sandor waited for her to start crying in horror that she had been stuck with him.

“Thank the gods.” She said instead, shocking the hell out of him, a watery smile spreading across her face. Then she reached for his face with both hands, “I wanted it so badly to be you.”

Before Sandor could say anything to that, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him. It was soft, gentle, and Sandor reminded himself to be careful with her split lip. When they parted, Sandor pressed his forehead against hers, his arms around her waist and holding her tightly to him while she wrapped her legs around his hips.

“Take me home.” She whispered.

“Your home is gone, little bird.” He rasped, regret that he couldn’t do what she asked filling him up.

“My home is with you.” She countered, pulling back to look at him. “Take me away from here, and let’s build our home together.”

Pressing another kiss to her bruised mouth, Sandor picked her up off the sink and carried her to his truck. They only made it a few miles away from the Lannister estate before Sansa had him pull over. He took her there, in the front seat of his truck on the side of a deserted side road in the middle of the night. She held him so tightly, cried his name so prettily, and gave him the happiest memory of his life with the promise of many more to come.


	6. The first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on you

At birth, your words were on the inside of your left bicep, but they weren’t formed as words yet. They were just a black smudge on your skin. Normally by age five the words were fully developed, sometimes earlier but always by five. When Sansa’s became legible, her mother had cried. Who would say something so crass to her perfect little princess? It had confused Sansa, as she didn’t understand the words herself, but her father had told her that she needed to keep them covered. As she grew up and learned what the words meant, Sansa was angry. Soulmates were supposed to be romantic and lovely and the words were supposed to be meaningful and sweet. And she’d been stuck with this? The gods could be cruel. 

A persons words were considered intimate. It wasn’t polite or decent to ask others what their words were. It was something only close friends and family knew, if that. Sansa’s family knew, but she made certain to keep it a secret from everyone else. The words were just too impolite it was embarrassing. She spent the majority of her teen years and early twenties cringing every time a man came up to speak to her, waiting to hear the words that had been haunting her for her entire life. But it never came.

When Sansa graduated from University, her brother had thrown her a huge party, renting out the entire VIP section of her favorite dance club. All her friends were there, and her siblings, and drinks were flowing and Sansa was having the time of her life. Her feet were starting to ache from all the dancing and her heels and she desperately needed to use the restroom. Yelling over the music to Jeyne and Mya that she was going to the bathroom, Sansa ducked off the dancefloor and hustled there. Once she was done and had washed her hands, she heard a new song come on and she gasped, not even bothering to dry her hands as she nearly ran out of the bathroom so she could make it to the dancefloor and dance to her favorite song. Only, when she turned where the hall gave way to the club, she ran smack into a massive wall of a man, teetering dangerously on her heels and almost falling backwards. And she would have, had he not grabbed her upper arms and steadied her.

“Fucking hells.” He groused and Sansa felt her arm tingle where her words were, eyes flying up to the face of the man holding her. He looked annoyed, and a little scary, but also starkly handsome despite the scars that ravaged half his face.

“You’re mine.” She heard herself saying and then wrinkled her nose. That was what she said? Of anything she could have possibly said, that was it? She supposed it was no worse than what he’d said.

The mans face froze, the annoyance draining from his features and leaving him looking a little awestruck.

“What did you say?” he rasped, still holding her arms.

“Um.” Sansa blushed. “Sorry. But, to be fair, I’ve walked around with a curse on my arm for my whole life. You’ve made quite the impression on my parents already.” She grinned and he huffed a laugh, hands falling from her arms. She shivered a little at the way he let his fingers graze down her skin.

“You’re not what I was expecting.” He finally said.

“No?” she asked. “What were you expecting?”

“Nothing quite so pretty.” He shrugged. “Fate has been nothing but a bastard my whole life. Figured it’d stick me with a hag.”

“Well, that’s not very nice.” She admonished him. “There’s more to people than just looks, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” He laughed bitterly. “Believe me, girl. I know.”

That made Sansa curious, wondering what had happened in his life to make his so bitter. Perhaps she could help him see that there was still good people in the world.

“I’m Sansa, by the way.” She offered her hand and he took it. “We’re here for my graduation party.” She pointed back towards the VIP section. “Would you like to join us?”

“It’s Sandor, and no.” he sighed, then tapped his left pec. Gods, his chest was broad. “I’m working.”

It was then she realized his chest said the name of the club and that he was wearing all black.

“Oh.” She hedged for a minute, then made a decision. “Do you have a phone?”

Raising his brow, he pulled a phone from his back pocket and unlocked it before handing it to her. Sansa quickly added her number as a contact before handing it back to him.

“Glad to meet you, Sandor.” She smiled at him. “Text or call me sometime.”

“Aye.” He nodded, staring at the number for a minute before looking back at her. “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” She started to walk away, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “And do try to watch your language.”

Sandor laughed, and Sansa returned to her party with a smile she couldn’t quite get rid of. 


End file.
